


Joanna Lannister (in ASOS)

by CreativeLiterature



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28545621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeLiterature/pseuds/CreativeLiterature
Summary: A couple paragraphs worth of what the Lannister reaction might be, if Joanna returned during ASOS.
Relationships: Joanna Lannister/Tywin Lannister
Kudos: 8





	Joanna Lannister (in ASOS)

Lord Tywin slammed his hand down on the table. “ _ Enough!  _ I will have no more of this unseemly squabbling. You are both Lannisters, and will comport yourselves as such - “

There came a knock to the door, and at once a guardsmen entered, in the crimson of House Lannister in mail and armor.

“What is it?” Kevan asked.

“Apologies, my lord,” the soldier looked as white as a sheet. “There’s someone to see the Lord Hand.”

“Who?” Lord Tywin’s crisp voice cut through the silence.

“It’s … it’s your wife, my lord. Lady Joanna.”

_ If this is a lark, he’ll be strung up by his boots before dinnertime _ , Tyrion mulled to himself. Cersei looked furious; their father only remained still as stone.

“Tywin?” came the voice, insistent as the swish of skirts followed her entry.

She was tall for a Lannister, with a pointed nose and thin neck and silver strands through her beaten gold hair. Yet as the guardsman made move to leave, a gasp broke from Kevan and Lord Tywin rose from his chair; Cersei made a strangled cry and Tyrion remained stilled; frozen in shock.

_ Her hands, she visited me in my sickbed _ , Tyrion thought absurdly.  _ Yet how did she get past unnoticed? _

“Tywin,” she repeated, this woman who stood like a Lannister.

Tyrion turned to his father, whose veins in his neck were pulsing, as Kevan clutched onto the chair beside him for comfort. The silence yearned on, and Cersei scattered her glance between her father and this woman, her eyes like a restless cat’s.

“Joanna,” Lord Tywin’s smile discomfited Tyrion; his glance shared with Cersei was one of disbelief, as the two embraced one another. Tyrion squirmed to get a better look at the woman who claimed to be his father’s dead wife; was this truly who he had killed to come into the world?

“Kevan,” Joanna placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, sweeping to Cersei whose face was white with shock. “Come, Cersei. You’re in my seat.”

Tears gathered in Cersei’s eyes to clutch her mother close. She broke apart, only for the vein of suspicion, taking her in as though she wasn’t real.

“Tyrion,” Joanna smiled, the faint scent of perfume lingering in the air. “I still bear the scar that brought you into this world. You fought like your father.”

Tyrion dared to cast his glance to Lord Tywin, whose mouth was hard.

“Mother?” Tyrion asked dryly, at last. He clambered off his chair, and swooped up to be held as though he was a child. He breathed in her scent and wondered how he had lasted so long without it.

“How?” Kevan broke the silence, when Joanna released Tyrion at last.

“Your brother,” Joanna replied, taking her husband’s chair, her eyes full of warmth for him alone. “Gery sailed the seas with my body, on the words of some red priestess he’d chance met overseas. As it happened, the kiss was too late. He left me in the care of those priests and so they labored, night and day to keep me alive… for surely the gratitude of Casterly Rock would permit them a western temple to draw others to their god.”   
“Yet the years waned on, and they desired payment in part of a different sort. Gery, oh yes, he found Brightroar,” Joanna turned to Tyrion, with a secret smile.

“Gerion?” Kevan repeated. “He found House Lannister’s ancestral sword?”

“They thought me dead, and so did Gery, but when they demanded he hand it over, he sailed into a storm and was never heard of. One night, I awoke in pitch black to hear their footsteps, and convinced some sailors to take me to port and out to sea. The wealth of Casterly Rock filled their ardor; yet they needed food in their bellies sooner, and we lost our ship almost as soon as we headed off…”

Tyrion could feel his head pounding. Cersei was white with shock; his father stood, unmoving.

“The fleet which took us into King’s Landing was amid the wreckage of Stannis’ ships,” Joanna sniffed, dismissing him and his cause into the ether. “King Renly had saved the day, or so I had been told… until I saw the crimson of House Lannister on the ramparts, and Tyrell men spreading like vines amid the docks.”

Joanna rose and took her husband’s hand, the affection between them hanging like a heavy gauze, and rubbed the ridge of her husband’s knuckles with her thumb. “It is time for me to spend my last years among the living, once more.”

Tyrion remembered little of his last moments in that room; he had been swiftly ushered outside by his father, who was in no mood to brook argument. He and Cersei stood outside like a pair of criminals before the king’s law, and he could feel her potent rage growing; she may have a mother back, but her fury at Tyrion for keeping her so long was just as chaste, for her to explode.

“It’s your fault,” she swept away, unable to hide her sobs as her footfalls echoed in the spiral tower.

_ How could I not know? _ Tyrion collapsed against the stone wall, not caring that his father’s guardsmen could see. The pair of them were white enough having seen a ghost come back from the dead.

“My lord,” Podrick stumbled over his attempt to get out a sentence, as Tyrion stirred from the featherbed, almost knocking over his mug of ale. Drink had done little to hide the hurt still coursing through his body. “Your - my lady of Lannister has requested you see her in her chambers.”

_ My mother? _ Tyrion could still barely believe it. He pulled on some breeches and Pod assisted him with his buttons, but it was all too close to his mother’s touch for him to believe.

“Don’t,” Tyrion had tears welling in his eyes, for the lurch she had made him suffer.  _ Surely she did not mean to hurt me. But why was she gone so long? _

Across the yard he waddled, and his father’s guards admitted him on sight. Here there were more servants coming and going; soldiers on sight to be sure, clad in the crimson of his House.

Within his father’s chambers he saw Pycelle attending to his mother, lying in the bed while Lord Tywin nodded. He cast away some strips and bandages, and revealed a scar from breastbone to…

“The cut is quite severe, my lord,” Pycelle took little enjoyment in the sight; last Tyrion saw of him, he was unlikely ever to find his way in a woman’s bed again. “I would not trust these red gods… “

“You are Grand Maester,” Lord Tywin forcibly reminded him. “Find a way.”

“Yes, my lord,” Pycelle bobbed an assent, and blanched to see Tyrion leaning in the doorway.

“Might I come in?” Tyrion ventured past the shocked old fool to see his mother, pale and sweaty and surely how her last moments would have been. He waddled past his father to grip her hand.

“Let her go,” Lord Tywin barked.

“Tyrion,” Joanna squeezed his hand. “Go with your father. Your sister is on her way.”

Once Tyrion had left the bedchamber, his father spoke some quiet words with his wife. If Tyrion had thought that his mother returning to life would soften Lord Tywin, he was wrong.

“Tyrion,” Lord Tywin’s voice was flat, emotionless once they found their way into the solar. “You are not to see your mother without my leave.”

Tyrion was stunned like a punch in the gut. Here was his mother, on death’s door once more, and his father would deny him?

“Alive she may be,” Lord Tywin settled behind his desk, while murmurs from outside told him his sister had arrived. “Yet your actions have cost most of her life.”

Tyrion could see his father’s words were costing him; the gray around his eyes was not from lack of sleep, and the line of his mouth quivered when he said it. At once when the doors opened, his eyes hardened once more, and he motioned for the queen to sit.

“Where is she?” Cersei asked, a flounce of gold and emeralds, in her best finery to parade for her mother.

“In bed,” Lord Tywin told her shortly. “She needs to rest, after the ordeal she’s taken.”

The silence hung heavy between father and son. Another knock came to the door; Kevan entered, and offered a quick apology and placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder, who remained immobile.

Tyrion felt his head grow leaden again; how could his father hate him so? Perhaps if  _ he  _ had delivered her by ship, the tides might turn… yet his father would find some way to cast him out all the same.

“There are plans to be discussed, and a war to be waged,” Lord Tywin resumed his normal conduct, somehow keeping the frailty out of his voice. “There remains an alliance to be sought, and we have word of a Tyrell plot to wed Sansa to the heir, Willas.”

“Who told you this?” Cersei asked. “Sansa goes nowhere without my leave.”

“To refuse would sow distrust between our allies at court,” Lord Tywin pointed out, not fully answering the question. “We must needs secure the betrothal of the Stark girl before Joffrey’s wedding.”

“To whom?” Tyrion spoke out loud, and was met with his father’s hateful glance.

“You,” he practically spat, and Tyrion felt once more in the crosshairs of the powerful lion whom he had so feared as a boy. “You will wed the Stark girl.”

“Him?” Cersei asked scornfully. “She is  _ my _ hostage - “

“She is a ward of the crown, Cersei,” Kevan pointed out.

“I am Queen  _ Regent _ !”

“Until Joffrey’s wedding, we can have no claim to know of Lord Tyrell’s intentions,” Lord Tywin replied affably, as though nothing untoward had occurred. “It must be done, and quickly.”

“Am I to have no say in this?” Tyrion’s face burned as did the livid, puckering scar.

“Why should you?” Lord Tywin resolved to look at his son. “Your mother thinks it's a fine match.”

Tyrion went red at that, and had little to say until Lord Tywin turned to his brother.

“... no, Lancel could, but - “ Kevan pondered. “I fear he could not consummate the marriage.”

“So I am to be her husband then, is that the way of it?” Tyrion glared at his father, still hurting. “She is but a girl. We who have warred on her family. She will not have me in her bed, I promise you.”

“That concern is shared not just by you,” Kevan replied. “Without being consummated, the High Septon could cast aside the marriage. Think, Tyrion. You could be Lord Protector of Winterfell one day!”

“Tyrion agrees,” Lord Tywin turned from his son, to his daughter. “And so shall you.”

“What?” Cersei replied, stung.

“You will marry Willas Tyrell.”

“No,” Cersei said after a moment’s shock, almost as white as when their mother made her entrance.

“Our alliance with the Tyrells won the Battle of Blackwater,” Lord Tywin replied, easily calm enough knowing his wife was waiting in the bedchamber, safe and alive. “It should be tempered and made whole, with a marriage.”

“Mother wouldn’t - “

“Your mother preferred Oberyn Martell,” Lord Tywin flatly stated. “Yet Willas Tyrell is by all accounts a mild, courtly young man - “

“The cripple?” Tyrion couldn’t help but poke the lion, for all the restraint he was showing. He turned to his sister. “You’d do better in Dorne, sweet sister.”

“I am not going to Dorne,” Cersei shook with visible rage. “May I see mother?”

“No,” Lord Tywin stated firmly. “You may go. Remember your duty.”

Cersei brimmed with fire, and left him with the embers of her rage.

“And what of me, Father?” Tyrion asked. “Am I to be sent to bed without supper?”

“I’ll have no more of your japes,” Lord Tywin rose from the table. “We are done, Tyrion.”

_ Yes, we are _ , Tyrion mused, getting up without solace for the lonely sight of his mother, lying abed. The crimson sheets stirred with each breath she took as though it might be her last.

… With one son dead and two more in mortal danger, Ser Kevan was consumed by grief and fear. Lord Tywin had always relied on his brother, but with his wife abed and fatigued, now he had no choice but to turn again to his dwarf son …

… Even that modest pleasure was denied him, however; no sooner had he returned to his chambers than Podrick Payne informed him that he had been summoned to the Tower of the Hand. “His lordship wants to see you. The Hand. Lord Tywin.”

“I recall who the Hand is, Pod,” Tyrion said, his chest swelling that he might see his mother once more. Lord Tywin kept a guard around her as though she was worth all the gold in Casterly Rock. He tried a jibe. “I lost my nose, not my wits.”

Bronn laughed. “Don’t bite the boy’s head off now.”

“Why not? He never uses it.” In spite of seeing his mother, Tyrion wondered what fresh new charge his father would lay at his feet. He never liked his company; an invitation was always laced …

…  _ See there, Father? _ he wanted to shout.  _ See how fast I learn my lessons? _

Tyrion made to get off the stool, but his father’s gaze pinned him there.

“You may see your mother,” Lord Tywin conceded, which Tyrion would later learn was by his mother’s decree. “Though I mislike it.”

Tyrion stewed on that as he waddled into his father’s bedchambers, which were becoming more and more his mother’s.

_ My mother _ , Tyrion tasted the word as he saw her stirring from within the bed, her silver-gold hair tousled, her face drawn and wan. She pulled the coverlets about her; but when he shrank back, she beckoned him forth.

“My son,” she smiled proudly, that he might clamber up and join her, as though he was a child.

_ Did Jaime and Cersei gather so, when they were young? _ Tyrion could not stop staring at her. She was not a great beauty, especially so in her tired state; yet her presence soothed an itch in him that he could not stop rubbing up against.

“You are a man wed,” she told him. “I heard the bells from my bedchamber… “

“You could not come,” Tyrion said, almost sulkily. The blame was flowing forth, to compensate for the pain and guilt at seeing her alive.

“There would have been a spectacle,” Joanna’s sharp admonition brought him back to life.

“The Queen of Thorns manages at her age.”

“I am not the lioness I was, Tyrion,” Joanna abruptly told him. “Stafford lies dead, a fool to be sure, but my brother all the same. Perhaps he deserved the kiss more than me.”

“No,” Tyrion scrabbled for her hand, and felt it not warm like he dreamed. “Father is winning the war.”

“Your father will continue for House Lannister, and I lie in a bed, as useless as nipples on a breastplate. It is past time I return to Casterly Rock.”

At the look on her son’s face, Joanna continued, “Not the Hall of Heroes, Tyrion. It is not my time yet. But nor can I shift your father’s word on anything.”

“He will listen to you,” Tyrion felt assured; anyone on his side was a good thing. “You can’t leave me, mother.”

At the sound of his voice breaking, she pulled him closer in an embrace. He heard his father’s footsteps, and angrily wiped his tears away, the puckered scar burning.

“Treat the Stark girl well,” his mother murmured, as weak as a wounded lioness, but the gaze to her husband bright with the eyes of fire.

  
  
  
  



End file.
